Through Fields and Over Hills
by ButrusButtros
Summary: When contacted by a man promising to pay him thousands to deliver a package, Brandr quickly agrees. He didn't realize the package would be a Thalmor spy he had to tote across the entire expanse of Skyrim. Thrown out of his element; Brandr has to learn how to deal with his "package", a meddling goddess, and the arranging of a marriage.
1. Ahoy, land!

Lightning cracked the sky as the heavens poured onto the boat. There was no space left dry, above or below deck. The waves crashed on the ship like a feral beast, snarling and snapping at the deckhands. Several of the crew fell as a wave lifted the boat from one side and threatened to capsize the vessel. Men screamed and the sky replied with a roar of thunder that was so deep it reverberated through the chests of all who bore witness to its strength. One ship hand was missing when the craft returned to a level position. There was no evidence of him; the green-grey waters maintained their secrets of what lay below the surface. The rest of the crew hastily lashed themselves to anything that seemed likely to remain attached in the storm. Again, they shouted and the sky roared back. Hours dragged on and seemed to take a man for each that passed. It was only before dawn broke that the ship saw relief from the storm.

The deckhands hurried below, eager for a bit of rest after the long night. They got their food as they passed in line, devouring the cold and greasy meal with glee. Not one among them could name a better tasting dinner while they ate. After each had cleaned his plate, they went one by one to the darkened room in which they slept. Hammocks hung in two lines, one on top of each other. While each hammock had an owner the morning prior, several of them were now left empty to swing with the gentle rocking of the ship. When all the hired hands had crawled into their resting place, the last candle was blown out and the room plunged into utter darkness. No one spoke as the men settled down; some were already asleep while other quietly mourned the loss of friends or family. It was not long before snores filled the room and drowned out the noise of the world. It also drowned out the whispering between two young boys.

Each was new to the ship, and the sea itself, but their tongues were wizened in the ways of gossip. They spoke of the men who were no longer among them, the storm that seemed to have been sent from the seven hells, and of the strange man they were transporting to Anvil in Cyrodiil. The return trip was more lending to speculation as a second cabin was to be prepared for it. Their whisperings continued until the rousing of men interrupted their conversation. Morning seemed to have arrived in a hurry and their duties began before the rest of the crew's. The two boys, now inseparable, rushed to take care of the captain and the guest.

* * *

It was too early when the knock at his door came. The storm had kept him awake for its entirety and the effects were just beginning to kick in. The sun beamed in through the porthole above his bed and stabbed at his eyes. An empty wine jug rolled on the floor until it found the corner where its cousins were also piled up. The sight of the many empty wine bottles made the man rub his face in annoyance. It was no wonder he had guzzled them the night prior. A Nord he was, but a sailor he was not. He had hoped to find comfort in the bottom of the last jug, if not the gift of dreamless rest. Nothing had seemed to calm the pacing animal inside of him, nor quell the urge to leap into the sea and swim for dry land. "Fucking boats."

One of the two serving boys had stepped into the cabin without permission. "It's actually a ship, sir."

The man sat up from his bed and stared at the new annoyance in the room. The thin blankets that covered his body slipped away as he stood. It was only when he was towering over the intruder that he saw fear arise in the boy's eyes. Only the platter of food the child had brought which saved him from the man's wrath. "Put down the plate and get out." The order came out in a deep gravely tone meant to intimidate. To the man's pleasure, the boy scurried out of the room and out of sight. He was again left in peaceful solitude to contemplate his journey. It had been almost thirty days of this routine and the man was near insanity. For the hundredth time, he removed a letter from his possessions and read it.

_Brandr the bloody, _

_ Your reputation precedes you and your strength is a legend in the great city of Anvil. I have a package I need delivered to the city of Solitude in your beloved Skyrim. This package is of great worth to me and I must know that it is in the safest of hands. You must come to Anvil to receive this package so I may give you further instructions on the intricacies involved in its delivery. These instructions must be passed to you in person for they are not suitable to put in writing. I understand the travel from Skyrim to Cyrodiil is lengthy at best. Upon arrival, you will receive a quarter of your final payment for the safe delivery of my package. When I receive word my package has been delivered, per my instructions, you will receive the rest of the sum owed to you. Your full payment will exceed twenty thousand septims. I implore you to arrive with haste._

_ -Risyiir Sceria_

The Nord's forehead wrinkled as he struggled through the letter. His understanding of written language was not world renowned. Brandr sat on the bed, letter still in hand. It took time to process the amount of septims he stood to make on this deal. He wasn't sure how he would transport so many. A chest, or even two, could be necessary.

A seagull screamed outside the ahip, startling the Nord. A simple shirt and trousers were thrown on in haste. The tall man stooped through the underside of the boat until reaching the deck. A port was within sight, the sailors were readying the ship to dock. Brandr inhaled the salty air and let out a long sigh. He had no love of sailing and the deep desire to swim to shore was almost overwhelming. The man soothed himself with the thought of septims and strong mead.

Just a short hour later and Brandr was free to exit the ship. He glanced back at the floating prison once safely ashore and shuddered. The knowledge he had to return to Skyrim on the boat was enough to chill his blood. The Nord decided that before meeting with Risyiir, he would first find himself the stiffest drink available.

The massive stone walls of Anvil loomed ahead of him, reminding him of Windhelm. Although he could not deny that the weather was more pleasant. Anvil was a pleasant city it seemed, all of the buildings were well kept for the most part. He could see a large temple in the middle and briefly considered going inside to pray. He could use all the help he could get for the return to Skyrim. Upon seeing the temple was dedicated to Dibella, Brandr scoffed and continued to walk. He had no use for blessings from her. Love would not maintain his heath, nor would it fill his belly with drink. The idea of mead pushed the Nord to hurry faster towards the nearest inn. He still had an hour or so before he had to find the man behind the pay, just enough time for a single drink.

Briefly, the thought of staying in this city passed through his mind. However, the idea of money was more tempting and he shrugged off the notion of relocating. Skyrim was the true home of the Nords and he knew he would sorely miss the crisp weather. He had only been walking for a short while and his shirt was already damp with sweat. His short hair was glued to his head by the humidity and appeared as if he had just pulled himself from the water. Cyrodiil was not the place for him, he immediately thought after sweat dripped from his nose. The patch of moisture on his back seemed to grow with each step he took.

A beggar woman sidled up to him and grinned at the Nord with a mouth full of missing or blackened teeth. She lifted the ruined hem of her skirt and ruffled the fabric in his direction. "Spare a few coins, mister? I can give ye a good time in exchange." Brandr moved away and snarled at the woman in blatant disgust. He had seen many whores in his time, and he admitted to using a few as well. However, it would have to be a very unfortunate year before he would take this one up on her offer.

He passed her without so much as a nod of recognition; his coins remained firmly attached to his belt. A large hand covered his coin purse to dissuade the thieves that were posted around the town. He knew all too well what having his coins stolen by a cutpurse felt like. Finally, an inn loomed ahead. Brandr didn't bother to read the sign outside the door. There was nothing that could stop him from a large tankard that would inevitably not quite satisfy his want.

The inn was dark enough inside that Brandr had to slow his race to the counter and allow his eyes to adjust. When he was finally able to get his drink, he raised it to his lips and guzzled the sweet liquid. It warmed his throat going down and curled in his belly like a trail of embers. The tension from the night before seemed to melt away. Moisture gathered in the short dark beard on his face and dripped onto his pants before the mug was gone. His tongue flicked to catch the precious drops remaining above his lip and he let out a loud belch before sinking into his chair.

"Another!" he roared and before he could inhale the tankard was full. Brandr chuckled and remembered the idea of relocating. If service continued to exceed his expectations than he might just have to leave the frozen north for good. It seemed magical how quickly the tankards refilled and the pretty young barmaid was giving him flirtatious smiles with each new mug. With each drink he knocked back the girl became prettier and the giggles she let out seemed more enticing. Coins were quickly piling on the table just to get another mug and an excuse to stare down the bodice of the maid. His palms itched the longer he stared and he became convinced this woman was meant to be his. It would surely impress her how much he could drink; he could envision her leading him to a dark corner so he could do horrible, wonderful things to her body. His mind traveled briefly to the temple of Dibella and he grinned. He'd be praying to her after all, though in a much different way than had been expected.

With that fantasy in mind, he sped up his guzzling process and ordered another.

* * *

It was night when Brandr finally exited the inn. His trousers seemed looser than they had been for the past hours. He had scratched an itch the beggar woman had ignited and the satisfaction had mellowed the Nord. The bar maid had squealed and giggled into his mouth the entire time and the memory was sure to be a favored one for the long trip back to Skyrim. He had more drink in his belly than his body knew what to do with. Each movement sent the liquid sloshing uncomfortably in his gut. Every step seemed to be more difficult than the last. Brandr would have made a mental note the Cyrodiil had some very strong mead if he were not so drunk. The streets were emptier than they had been on the way to find the inn and the Nord weaved across the footpath. He would have thanked the builders of Anvil for putting so many walls up if they had been there. It seemed that every twenty steps required him to find a place to lean against while his balance floundered.

He glanced at signs posted beside entrances and tried to remember what the word 'Risyiir' looked like. It took another twenty minutes of stumbling around the streets before he found a sign that seemed to have the word he wanted. He studied it for a moment, trying to comprehend the word that followed it. The longer he tried to read, the closer his face got to the sign. It wasn't long before he gave up and threw the door open. "I have arrived, rich man. Let's talk septims!" he bellowed into the dimly lit room before him. There was a fire burning in a hearth and nearby a set of chairs. The floor was left bare and heavily scented plants hung above the hearth. He did not recognize these plants, but their smell was enough to wrinkle his nose. It was far too hard to stand a moment longer so Brandr fell into the nearest chair. Only half his body managed to make it into the chair. The result was both Brandr and the chair falling to the ground.

It took the Nord a moment to realize he was on the floor and several seconds before the chair returned to its upright position. The tall Nord climbed his way into the chair and finally was able to sit more like a normal person. He looked around the room with glazed eyes, taking in the rich decorations on the shelving. He had almost scanned the whole room when noticed a surplus of books on a shelf. He grumbled to himself about dealing with a learned man before he noticed a short Imperial man had come down the staircase. Brandr had to do a double take. When had a staircase appeared in the room? This mental puzzle drowned out the sound of the strange little man's voice. It wasn't as though staircases could just magically appear and the idea of missing such an important item in the room bothered the man immensely. It wasn't until Brandr heard 'septims' that he swung his head back to focus on the Imperial. The motion made him sick and the Nord belched. A burning mix of acid and mead flowed into his mouth and threatened to spew from his lips if it wasn't handled quickly. Brandr spit the mouthful out onto the floor and then swallowed the remaining mixture back down.

"What?"

Risyiir stiffened. His introduction to this great, blundering idiot seemed to have gone through one ear and out the other. "I am Risyiir. I am a ship-owner and merchant. I contacted you about a package delivery because of your violent reputation and ability to make it through situations alive."

Brandr nodded through the speech and felt his face smile at the last line. That part was true.

"Yes, that's me. I'm your man, your violent man. I can take on trolls, giants, bandits, feisty women, you name it." The words falling from his mouth seemed to slur together.

The abnormally short Imperial looked at the obviously drunk Nord with disdain. This is what he had hired? The other Nord he had talked to assured him that Brandr was the man he wanted protecting his precious package. Risyiir noticed Brandr was staring at him very intently. The small man attempted to hide the disgust he felt, and a forced smile appeared. "Good, that's exactly what I want." It was now that he was planning on throwing his idea to the wind just to get Brandr out before he vomited again.

"Now, this package of mine needs to be delivered first to Solitude. You will find the wealthiest man there who is unmarried and present it to him. If he refuses, you will leave the city." Risyiir licked his lips. "For each city you travel to, you will repeat this pattern. Understood?"

Brandr was just awake enough to mumble in agreement.

Risyiir scoffed at the drunken fool again and made a note to cut the pay of the Nord by a third. "The order of the cities you'll go to is; Solitude, Windhelm, Dawnstar, Winterhold, Morthal, Markarth, Riften, Whiterun. If none of those work out, just leave my package in Falkreath. The men there can do with it what they will. It won't be of any use to me at that point."

The Nord was now snoring in the chair. Risyiir turned a shade of red that was previously not known to man or mer. He snarled and kicked the boot of the man who insulted him so. When it garnered no response, he ground his teeth together. First this "Brandr the bloody" showed up hours after his ship had docked, piss drunk, and now he was not even awake to listen to the orders. At the very least, the physical description he had heard was true. The man was easily over six feet; his body was heavily muscled and covered with the scars from a rough life. He had the dark and coarse hair of a bear, an unusual coloration for a Nord, and when he bellowed it sent a jolt of panic through Risyiir's chest. This was a man he would not want to meet in a confrontation. The short Imperial man sighed and kicked ashes over the fire. He climbed up the stairs and returned to his family's chambers. The Nord would be brought up to speed in the morning, assuming he didn't choke to death in the night.


	2. Dibella's City

**Author's Note:**

**I realized I forgot to put this at the beginning of the first chapter. Whoops. I obviously don't own Skyrim, I only own my characters and my imagination. **

**This story is 100% outlined and planned out, the only thing that will be slowing me down is how fast I can write the words. It's projected to be a long one, 25+ chapters and quite a lot of words. I'll be honest; I'm highly motivated by reviews and favorites! I want to know other people are enjoying this story as much as I am. **

**There'll be heartbreak, happiness, adventure, horrors, tragedy and all other emotions on this roller coaster ride. Buckle up boys and girls, we're leaving the station.**

* * *

Morning light came in through the window and lit the small room. The snoring Nord jolted away when the beam reached his eyes and covered them with his massive hands. Sunlight was not his friend most mornings and that was the case today. What had even happened to yesterday? A giggle floated through his mind and Brandr groaned. The barmaid and all those tankards of mead. It was no wonder he couldn't remember what happened. His memory became hazy somewhere around drink eight as he tried to recall how much he had consumed. He fingered the coin purse and felt how empty it was with dismay. He needed to earn more coins to fill the pouch. It was the last of all of his coin, and from the brief feel of the bag, he had about three left.

Now where was he? He glanced around and saw nothing he recognized. The vomit on the floor was obviously his, but other than that there were no signs he was supposed to be here. Had he broken into some poor sap's house and passed out? Brandr pulled his aching body out of the chair; every muscle was locked up from the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement. It had him longing for the hard bed on the ship. He cracked the joints he could and rubbed the massive knots in his neck. "Hello?" he called out.

A somewhat familiar man came into vision. Why did Brandr recognize him? He'd never seen this short of an Imperial before in his life, surely he would remember if he had.

"Sit, you oaf. Do you remember anything I told you last night?" Risyiir questioned in a harsh tone.

Brandr did not appreciate being ordered about by a man he could sit on and crush. He could only assume he was in Risyiir's home and the man before him was the mystery package owner himself. "Do not talk to me like that or else," Brandr threatened.

Risyiir seemed to shy away from the booming voice of the Nord and instead scurried back up the stairs. It was only moments later that he came back down with a small chest. When Risyiir set the chest on the ground, there was a heavy thunk. The sound was then followed by the tinkling of metal shifting on metal from within.

Brandr was mellowed by what he assumed would be a chest of septims. When the lid was lifted, it was revealed he was right. He had never seen so many coins in one place before, not even in a Jarl's home back in Skyrim. He sat himself back in the chair and gestured for the man to continue.

Risyiir smirked; the oaf was distracted by gold like a bird with shiny things.

"My package will be delivered to the ship tomorrow morning. Before you depart, it will be waiting in your cabin. Please take note of its pristine condition; it must arrive in Skyrim the exact way it departed here. If the package is marred in any way, you will not be paid your full sum. If you can successfully deliver this package within the month, I will consider including a bonus in your pay."

"Deliver it where, exactly?" Brandr asked with narrowed eyes. Somehow he knew this package was going to take him places he didn't want to go.

"We went over this last night, but I suppose I can repeat myself. First you will take it to Solitude. You will find the richest bastard there and offer it to him. I prefer you find a man who isn't married. If they refuse, you will leave town with the package in tow. You will repeat this process, in this precise order; Windhelm, Dawnstar, Winterhold, Morthal, Markarth, Riften, Winterhold. If none of those towns accept the package, take it and leave it in Falkreath. It is of no use to me any longer," Risyiir said.

"And if I were to mix up this order and deliver it to say, Riften, after Solitude?" Brandr was less than thrilled with backtracking between towns because of a silly order.

Risyiir ground his teeth together, his patience was gone. "Then you will not be paid. In fact, if my package reaches Falkreath, you will not be paid then either."

"I want a third of the twenty thousand upfront, then."

"Did the travel here make you mad, oaf? I would never pay up a third in advance. Perhaps if you had not vomited on my floor the night before, I could appease you. However it is now dried there and will have to be scrubbed off. The time and effort to clean it up has cost you the right to bargain for a third."

Brandr stood and began walking to the door. If the package was going to be this much of a hassle, he wasn't going to risk not getting paid a healthy sum for his hardships. If Risyiir was so desperate to have this package delivered, he would have to pay up. That desperation would have to be tested. He had just turned the handle when Risyiir cried out.

"Wait! Fine, a third! Oh you great, lumbering oaf! A third it is!" With that, Risyiir pulled a large sack from a drawer and began spilling the septims from the chest into it. His lips moved deftly as he counted all the coins. There was no way Brandr was getting a coin over the 6,666 he was owed. When the chest seemed to be empty, Risyiir removed the false bottom and scooped more coins from the hidden chamber below. The sack was incredibly heavy by the time the last coin clinked its way inside. "Take my hard earned money and leave, you menacing fool."

Brandr tested the strength of the sack by lifting it just off the floor. When it held, he reached in and took a handful. He flicked one back at Risyiir, in an attempt to infuriate the man, and shoved the rest in his coin purse. It was high time he went back to the inn and found that pretty little maid again.

It was only when the door closed behind the Nord that Risyiir snarled and picked up the lone coin. He had half a mind to go upstairs and throw a fit. But that would damage the pretty little package he needed to sell and he wanted every coin he could get from it.

Risyiir turned and climbed the staircase, he paused his ascent to look at the portraits of his past wives. He sneered at the last one, a striking Altmer. "At least I'm finally getting rid of what you saddled me with." The words came out with such venom it was a wonder they came from a mortal's mouth.

* * *

Brandr found his way to the inn and the barmaid with ease; he paid for mead and a room. When he tugged at the woman's hand and led her towards the space he rented, he was met with slight resistance. The Nord tugged again and glanced back at her. He saw what appeared to be contemplation and concern on her face and could not fathom what he did to cause it. A third time he tugged and she finally followed after him.

He barely had time to swing the sack of gold to the floor and kick the door closed before she was in his arms. He hadn't had this feisty of a woman in months, her wantonness intoxicated him. The longer they were together, the more Brandr prayed to Dibella. He couldn't help but gasp her name once or twice at the height of his enjoyment. And then it seemed like his peak would be never be reached. It was suddenly hard to even keep up his actions; the barmaid quickly stopped her noises and recoiled away from him. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

It was only when his head began to clear that he could fathom a reason for his poor performance. "I'm too hungover."

The barmaid sneered at him and pulled her skirts down. The sudden anger and hurt in her eyes was unexpected and Brandr had half a mind to question it. As she exited his room and slammed the door behind her, he noticed her begin to fiddle with her bodice and then her fingers. It held his interest for half a heartbeat before he chose to watch her hips swing as she stomped away from him. The speed at which she could switch between lust and rage was terrifying.

Brandr quickly decided he didn't care for the woman's attitude, especially since she had seen his sack of gold. In the corner of his room was a small barrel that was just large enough to fit his gold. He'd have to buy the container from the owner; it was much less suspicious to pack a barrel onto a ship than a clinking bag. He stuffed the sack with a spare blanket he found in the wardrobe and shoved it under the bed. If someone came looking to rob him, he prayed to Talos they would give up after finding the emptied sack.

Satisfied with himself, he collapsed onto the bed. While he originally thought he would land safely in the bed, it turned out that his head cracked into the wooden frame instead. Pain rocketed through his skull. He groaned and cradled his head in his hands, the hangover headache was nothing compared to the new one. A lump was already formed and ached something fierce. He opened his eyes and saw stars and lightning, and the walls no longer seemed solid as they swayed back and forth. The pain was akin to the last time he got hit in the head during battle, though the after-effects seemed to be worse. It took several minutes before his vision returned to normal and another several before he could handle the pressure of the pillow on his new lump. Brandr decided to rest on the bed and avoid any more movement, lest he hurt himself again.

He was just beginning to drift off when he felt a tickle on his cheek. He grumbled and tried to ignore it; his body had melted into the bed and refused to move an inch. The tickling became more insistent until he couldn't ignore it any longer. Brandr brushed his face and felt a sudden sharp pinch. His fingers brushed over the form of a spider and suddenly he was upright. It took a few smacks before the spider dislodged from his face, adding insult to injury. The bite was already beginning to itch and burn. His head throbbed again, the pain so strong that his eyes watered.

The combined less than stellar performance earlier, the egg sized lump, and a throbbing spider bite lead him to believe he was cursed. His mind jumped to the barmaid and her anger, but then it went back to the prostitute from yesterday. She definitely fit the profile for a witch, and he had refused her. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became. "If that damn ship sinks because of this, I will haunt that hag."

He needed a drink.

The barmaid ignored him entirely, no magic refills this time it seemed. He waited for the inn owner to notice him and received a much smaller mug than was expected. The first gulp of mead went down before he had time to taste it. The second one sat on his tongue longer enough to become repulsively sour. Brandr spat the liquid back into the cup and pushed it back to the inn keeper. "Your mead is soured, I want my coins back."

Somewhere in a corner, a bard struck up a tune about the civil war in Skyrim. Brandr listened to the lyrics and was transported back home.

_His memory provided the scene of the Stormcloak camp in heavy snow, the men huddled in cloaks around small fires in a desperate bid to stay warm. Brandr was sitting in a tent looking over a map of stretched animal skin. There were reports of Imperial camps below the pass, blocking the way off the mountain. His men were too tired to fight their way through and supplies were running low. If the storm continued, they wouldn't last another two days. Some of his scouts had not returned, despite having left over a week ago. There was one path left that could save his men, but no one had the strength to climb down and then return to lead the rest. Brandr rested his head in his hands while he decided what to do. _

_Finally, he stood and began gathering his things. He left behind his heavy armor in exchange for furs and tied a heavy cloak around his throat. His sword placed across his back if he were to find himself in trouble. His second in command attempted to reason with him, but Brandr refused to listen. He had set off immediately, taking only a meager amount of food. His men needed it more than he did. As the commanding officer of this group, he had eaten well up until then. There was a low murmur from his men as he walked through the camp; some had bid him good luck while others only watched with sunken eyes.. The snow had bitten at his neck and face as he walked away like a feral beast. He had thought about returning to the tent, but the health of his men forced him to carry on. He had to bring them home. _

Brandr returned to reality with a start. The memory had left a bitter taste in his mouth and panic in his chest. He had to get out of the inn and out into the street, away from the bard and his songs. He stood and hurried towards the door, his body slammed into a few tables on the way. His hip and toes took the worst of the damage from his frenzied escape. The door was blocked by the prostitute from the day before and brought Brandr to a quick stop.

Her face was deeply lined with dirt and grime and her mouth was left to hang open. Her teeth looked more painful than they were worth at this point. Her eyes though, seemed familiar to Brandr. He stared into them and tried to remember where he had seen them before. Perhaps she had been in Skyrim years ago and he had taken her up on an offer then. The longer he looked, the more sure he was that he had never bedded her before. Why was she so familiar? The way she stared at him sent shivers down his spine and gave him a deep sense of discomfort. He needed to get away from her.

The Nord shoved past the woman and out the door, gasping in the fresh air of the day. The sun on his face seemed to reassure him of his strength; he had no reason to fear a memory or a whore.

Anvil was bustling at this time of day; sellers were calling out their wares. Bakers placed tempting goods on their windows so passers-by would stop in and purchase them. Sailors shouted to each other as they unloaded cargo and tried to woo young women from the docks. The sights and sounds of normal life relaxed Brandr enough that he could formulate coherent thoughts. It only took him a few moments to find a general goods store, the shopkeep was a young Bosmer woman. She greeted him cheerfully and mentioned that anything he saw was for sale.

After he looked around for a while, he ended up with a small pile of items he wanted to purchase. There was a set of hog tusks he could use to hold candles, a wolf skin in a much lighter brown than was found in Skyrim, a new cloak in dark green wool, and food he planned to ration for himself out on the sea. A small bag of caramels were included by the Bosmer at no extra charge. She offered to have them delivered into cabin before he left the next day for a small charge and Brandr agreed. He almost wished he had bought more to make the delivery fee more worth it, but paid without complaint.

Back on the streets, Brandr hunted for a blacksmith's forge. It wasn't often he got a chance to purchase wares from another country without dealing with a heavily inflated price. He found the building he was looking for and stopped inside. The smell of a forge, sweat, and leather permeated the shop. It was soothing to the warrior as he browsed. One greatsword caught his eye, a great silver piece with a black leather grip. With no blacksmith in sight, he picked up the weapon and gave it a test swing. By the time he had fallen in love with the weapon, a burly man appeared behind the counter.

"That's silver there, one of the best pieces in the shop," the shop owner said.

"How much?"

The blacksmith regarded Brandr with the sword in hand, chewing over numbers. "For you, two thousand."

Brandr nearly dropped the sword. "That is a robbery! Two thousand septims for this?! I would have to hone the edge myself anyways." With a face of disgust he returned the sword to its resting place in red velvet. He turned and left the shop without another word. It was no wonder the shop had so many weapons; the man selling them had no idea how to set a reasonable price. It was physically painful to think of that beautiful sword and how perfectly it had fit into his hand. It was even balanced just so. Leaving it behind had soured his mood considerably.

Brandr had made it two hundred feet from the shop before the smith's face appeared outside the door. "Fine! For you, a thousand!"

It was enough to make him pause and consider going back, but instead took a few more steps forward.

"Eight hundred!"

Two more steps.

"Six hundred!"

This time it took four steps to get the price lower.

"Four hundred and that's my last price!"

Brandr stopped and grinned to himself. This walking out on people during negotiations thing was really working well for him. "Deal!" he called back. There was a skip in his step now, the earlier events of the day were totally forgotten.

It was a few minutes later that he walked out with a broad smile on his face. His new sword would be delivered to the ship before tomorrow. The smith didn't even charge a delivery fee. Now in a lightened mood, Brandr took a stroll around. He had heard about the Fighter's guild in Cyrodiil and wanted to see them with his own eyes.

* * *

It was well into the night by the time Brandr returned to the inn. His impression of Cyrodiil was wholly positive after what he had seen out of the fighter's guild. Even just horsing around with some of the members, he had learned new ways to knock the legs out from under his opponents. The new bruises made the Nord feel more alive than he had since stepping off of the ship. He needed the adrenaline of a fight like a khajiit needed Skooma.

The inn was full when he entered; people were huddled together in groups with the occasional roar of laughter breaking through the murmuring. The bard strummed his lute and sang a song about a woman and her lover. It was during the chorus that he made eye contact with the barmaid. It took him a moment to look her over from head to foot before he noticed a band of metal on her finger. Next to her was a man with a matching band on his hand as well. Suddenly, her actions made more sense. He groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. Meddling with married women was a sure way to get into a brawl more often than not. He slid to the side of the room, out of their sight.

"She's married!"

The raspy voice behind him startled Brandr. It was the whore from earlier. Why could he not seem to escape her? "I just learned that," he said.

The prostitute regarded him coolly, her gaze just as uncomfortable as it had been earlier. "Yer still staring at her like a piece of meat."

Brandr felt an unbidden flush creep up his neck. Here he was getting scolded by a prostitute for looking at a woman like a man was want to do. "I ain't saying she isn't pretty, okay, but now that I know she is married…" he let the sentence die.

"You'll just try to bed her while her husband ain't looking?" The whore seemed more upset by the moment. "This is Dibella's city! The Goddess of love! And here you are, fooled around with a married woman. And standing here planning to do it again. She'll curse you, you know."

Suddenly all the bad things from earlier made sense and Brandr sighed. "I think Dibella already has. If I had known she was married, I wouldn't have taken her. I swear on my life. Marriage is something I don't meddle with." He was unsure why he was confessing this to a woman that was paid to fuck.

The whore suddenly smiled and began to leave. "This is her town, I'm sure she'll have heard your apology."

As soon as she was out of the inn and walking towards the great chapel, her skin glowed and shifted. When the light faded, she was no longer a beggar woman with a lined face and missing teeth. She was the image of sexuality and love. No one seemed to have noticed the transformation save a single face in a window almost out of view.

Dibella lifted her hand and gestured to the pair of eyes peering at her. "Don't worry, I've heard your prayers. I will guide you." The Goddess of Love knew that the owner of the face in the window couldn't hear her words, but it was a more affirmed promise now that it was spoken out loud.

Just as she entered the chapel, she turned back to look at the inn. "And you, Brandr the bloody, you will have calm seas and swift winds. Perhaps I'll even melt some of that ice around your heart."

**Yay, Chapter 2 is done. Chapter 3 is currently being written. Should be up at some point in the next few days, be sure to check back frequently for new updates!**


	3. Unpleasant Cargo

**Author's Note:**

**Still don't own anything.**

* * *

Brandr had tried to shake off his uncanny encounter with the prostitute from earlier. Something about her was not right and his senses had screamed to get away the entire time she had chided him. The irony of a whore scolding someone for sleeping with another was not lost on him. He would have laughed in her face if the hairs on the back of his neck hadn't been standing upright. There had to be something he wasn't seeing, the fear of her made no sense. He had beaten Hagravens before with less fear, it made no sense. The mental gymnastics were quickly wearing him out and the soft bed he had rented was calling his name.

He made his way through the inn, towards the locked door of his room. It was within arm's reach when he made eye contact with the barmaid and then her husband. Brandr wondered if he knew what had transpired between them. When the husband began walking towards him, Brandr had his answer. The fist that swung dangerously close to his face reaffirmed that.

"You slept with my wife!"

Brandr dodged the first few punches before his luck ran out. Knuckles connected with his face and his head immediately began to ache again. He staggered back against a table and pulled his own hands up to defend the onslaught of blows.

"She didn't tell me! She didn't tell me!" he cried out, perhaps he could get the husband's anger redirected at his wife. Instead he got caught in the jaw with a blow so hard it made him slump to the ground. For a giant Nord that made a living off of fighting, he was not doing well now. The shame of that knowledge brought him to his feet. He bellowed into the husband's face, repeating his earlier statement. The entire inn fell silent after, even the fire seemed subdued. The husband looked defeated, his eyes were red rimmed and puffy. His fists were bruised and bloody, but they hung peacefully at his sides for now. He slunk back to his wife and pulled her from sight. A door slammed shut and the revere was broken. People began to talk and eat again, the bard strummed his lute, and Brandr sulked into his room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, the Nord pried off the top of the barrel. His septims glittered back at him before being packed away again; the sense of relief was almost palpable. It took him only moments to strip off his filthy clothes and wash the blood from his face. The idea of bed was so sweet that when Brandr crawled under the blanket, he had a difficult time believing he wasn't in a dream. Sleep took him quickly, and much to his relief, dreamlessly.

* * *

Morning came and found Brandr already hard at work. He had purchased the barrel from the inn for an exorbitant price and loathed how heavy his coins now seemed. Each step made the barrel threaten to slip from his fingers and smash on the ground. He could only imagine the flock of people that would swarm him then. It was just after the sun rose, but the sound of gold clinking was a powerful alarm. Brandr looked around as he made his way to the harbor; he expected to see the prostitute around any corner. Part of him grew concerned when he reached the deck of the ship without being harassed, the other was grateful. A shiphand offered to put the barrel in his cabin for him while Brandr enjoyed the last of the time near land. He agreed and watched his barrel of money disappear below deck.

The day had just begun, but was already a warm one. The sun was beaming down from a cloudless sky that bathed the decks in light. A breeze blew through the sails as if Nirn herself wanted the ship to leave port. Brandr dreaded watching land shrink away again. There was not much he was frightened of, but deep ocean was near the top of the list.

At last the anchor was raised and the ship drifted from the harbor. The breeze grew stronger as the ship reached the wide expanse of blue. The crew shouted to each other about the prayers they had said last night and how they worshipped Dibella well while they were in her city. It was clearly a blessing that the wind blew so strong in the correct direction, that there were no clouds yet, that the water was so calm. Brandr listened for a while, curious to hear someone mention the prostitute he had run into. Soon though, he was lost in thought.

Sunlight beaming down from almost directly above him woke the Nord from the unexpected nap. He had dreamt of his new home that he now had the money to finish. The dream had ended just as he went in to eat a hot meal and left Brandr's stomach rumbling in real life. It was only as he was heading below deck to grab an apple from his purchases that he remembered the package. "Probably should have checked on that a few hours ago…" he muttered and quickened his pace. If they left without his package, he couldn't imagine the angry letters he'd receive. Perhaps even a hired thug or two.

Upon reaching his cabin, Brandr through open the door and his jaw dropped. The fattest man he had ever seen was engulfing a chair in the center of the room. "What in the hells do you think you are doing?" he asked, an edge of panic in his voice. "Are you my package? I would have never agreed to something I couldn't carry yet alone feed!"

The fat man turned red in the face and tried to stand. His belly caught the edge of the table and sent the food he had been about to eat rolling onto the floor. "I have paid for this cabin, thank you very much. Just who do you think you are, you idiotic vagabond?" The retort seemed to only set the two men closer to tearing into each other. Just as Brandr crossed the room to begin swinging fists, a voice interrupted.

"Brandr, this is the Gourmet. He is correct; he does own this cabin for the trip to Solitude. You have been moved to the second cabin, as it is larger and the extra space is necessary to accommodate your….delivery's needs." The Captain was an intimidating man even while happy. Now he appeared cross and Brandr was not willing to see how this man controlled his ship, so he gave up without questioning anything the Captain said.

Brandr exited the room and made his way towards the second cabin. On the way to Anvil, it had just held extra cargo. He was curious to see what was so different about this room that he would need to be moved. If anything, the fatter man would most likely need the extra space. He reached the door and tugged, it hardly budged. Another hard tug was needed before the door swung open. Brandr walked into the room and turned to take in his new surroundings.

It was indeed bigger than his previous room, with two windows in the walls. A larger table with two chairs was bolted to the floor, and each side of the room had a bed built into the wall. The realization hit him like a brick and Brandr did a double take. There was a woman in the very corner of the room near a bookshelf. A candle sat next to her to provide extra light as she read, the golden glow made the red in her hair gleam. She glanced up at the sound of Brandr's sharp inhale.

"Hello, you must be my guardian. I am Thrari; it's a pleasure to meet you." She set the book aside and rose to extend her hand to the Nord. Thrari was unprepared for the dark rage that swirled across his features and the way he jerked away from her.

Brandr stared at the woman in the cabin. There was no mistaking the Altmer in her features, even her gold toned skin screamed high elf. She was watching him with dark blue-green eyes that were inhumanely large. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, but her jaw was not as narrow as the other Altmer he had seen in his days. It seemed that her father's race had gentled the angles of her face. It seemed her father gifted her with his height as well. While she was not as short as the Imperial had been, she was nowhere near the height of normal high elves. The natural light coming in from the windows revealed that her hair was a very dark red that only showed red when it was turned just so. Her gold toned skin seemed to be less yellow than he originally thought. Her smile was misleading in its innocence. This was no package; all he saw was a Thalmor spy.

_Her face flashed before him in his memories. Her face had been blood spattered, she was manically laughing as she cut down the truest friend Brandr had ever know. The pain of watching his brother in arms fall lifeless to the dirt was worse than the torn strips that were left of his back. He roared in rage and agony as she taunted him. Her tall and lithe frame had been just out of his reach, the other Thalmor agents kept a tight hold of his restraints to ensure he could not touch her. "You heartless bitch!" he had cried, his voice lacking the timbre that would come later with age. His young life, his village, was now ruined by this scourge of mer. It had taken days to get away from the Thalmor as they forced him to march across Skyrim. He had to answer for his crimes against the Empire in Solitude. His crimes were wearing an amulet of Talos and crying out for the god's help as he was tortured. The rage never left, it only burned hotter and deeper until it seemed he had nothing left inside. That day had left him with the taste of rebellion in his mouth and drove the young boy to seek the Stormcloaks. He would have his revenge. _

Brandr snapped back to reality just in time to retreat as Thrari attempted to approach him again. Her features weren't exactly the same as his memory, but they were close enough to make bile rise in the back of his throat. The rage that threatened to eat his insides was now boiling just under the surface. He may not be able to bring his friend or family back, but he could make sure this woman did not survive the day. He took a few steps towards her, pinning her into the corner of the cabin. He was looking for a hint of recognition, of fear, of any emotion except the happiness and excitement she was currently wearing. He needed her to be broken before he destroyed her.

Thrari felt her back bump into the edge of the bed and a wall. "Oops, I'm sorry. I can't get out of your way right here. You can have this bed if you want it, I'll just move my chair to the other side of the room so you can have your space." She was happy the man her father had chosen to protect her was such an intimidating man. Surely he was trying to show her how well he could keep her safe if someone tried to harm her. She watched his face intently as he glared back at her. The dark hairs of his short beard seemed to quiver with the intensity of his frown. She couldn't quite see his lips through the dark thicket and instead focused on his eyes. They were a light metallic grey she rarely saw in Anvil, the only other man she had seen with a color similar was also from Skyrim. The memory only made her more excited about this great bear of a protector.

Brandr held his breath as she spoke; a look of disbelief was well on its way to making an appearance. She slipped away from him and crossed the room before he could stop her. He reached out to stop her and noticed that the entire span of his hand would take up almost the entire span of her back. His hand closed around her arm and he tugged her back, the force of it causing her to stumble. "You are going back to Anvil." Each word had to be forced through clenched teeth.

Thrari's eyes widened and suddenly seemed to swim. "What? No! I'm finally off to see Nirn and you can't take that from me! My father paid you!"

"Your father should have paid me four times what he did to deliver you!"

"You are such a hurtful person! I am going to Skyrim! Do you have any idea how long I have waited to get out of Anvil? I will not go back now!" she screamed, tears now rolling down her cheeks. "And you! You will be nice to me! I have a lot of cities to see and I don't want to be stuck with someone who is such a…a…a mean person!"

Brandr found himself laughing at her failed insult and then laughed harder as he realized she had no idea what was going on. "You don't know a damn thing, do you girl?" Thrari's confused expression was as good as an answer. "Yer being sold off!" The laughter was now reverberating in his chest so much that it made him cough. He hacked a few times before recovering and looking at the Thalmor girl. "Your daddy isn't sending you to explore, he's using you to expand his business."

"He asked me to do what I could to get him new trading lines, but I'm going to Skyrim to have an adventure like my other sisters." Thrari retorted and crossed her arms across her chest. She wasn't going to sit and listen to this man as he tried to hurt her with his words. Perhaps he was still showing off, but she was near her limit for tolerating it.

Thrari left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Brandr was suddenly relieved to be alone so he could process the day without losing his mind first. He briefly wondered if he should go and bring her back, but then realized he had no where left to escape to. In all honesty, he could care less what she did on the ship as long as he made it home alive. He would take the money he already had and leave her in Solitude. There was no way he was going to tramp through the country with her in tow. He'd find a different way to pay for his home, Thalmor be damned.


End file.
